


You Know What They Say About Boarding Schools

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boarding School AU, M/M, No Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, no actually, but what Stiles says about boarding schools is that they're a breeding ground for awkward sexual tension with the headboy who hates you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know What They Say About Boarding Schools

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING. I'm basically making this up as I go along, in little pieces at a time, so don't expect a grand story or whatever. It'll be very rare/sporadic that I update.

Stiles grins to himself with his phone tucked tight against his chest; he winces as the cramped dorm bed squeaks, but he settles without waking his rommate so it’s a win. Stiles slides open his phone and clicks the FaceBook icon. He’s barely logged in and got a window open for tumblr when the room door glides open with a soft scratching sound across the carpet.

“Shit.”

Headboy Derek—who Stiles likens to Percy Weasley in his mind and his mind alone—walks in with silent footsteps. “Stlinski. Phone. Now.” He holds out his hand expectantly.

Stiles bows his head in shame and closes his apps and locks his phone before handing it over. “Be careful with it. It’s new. And fragile.” Derek scoffs and simply leaves the room and leaves Stiles wide awake, a little horny, and recklessly bored.

)

When Stiles gets his phone back two days later, he’s got sixteen new messages from his out-of-school friend Scott, four voicemails from his dad ranging from panicked to disgruntled, and a new phone number. Recently messaged, his inbox tells him, though Stiles doesn’t recognize the number. He gulps and his fingers shake as he hesitates to type out a message.

Not that it matters, because before he can get farther than ‘uhhhhh’ a message is being received. From the mystery number:

“Meet me at the pizza place on fourth. Dress normal. I’ll pay.”

Stiles stares at the message and weighs the pros and cons of accepting the invitation before answering back, “k.”

)

Stiles dances anxiously on his toes, hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep from the biting chill. It’ll start snowing soon, he knows from the way his breath curls into a light fog in front of him on every exhale. Stiles looks down the sidewalk, toward the center of town, and turns to look the opposite way towards the main road the takes you straight up to North Hills. He sighs, the wet-hot fog biting at his chilled nose.

“The first time I get asked on a date and it’s a total hoax.” He pulls out his phone again and scrolls to the message, tapping the screen idly. “Bet it was Jackson.” He tells the screen, put out and okay maybe a little teary eyed. But really, he couldn’t be blamed. No one, especially not deviously intriguing mystery numbers, went after guys like Stiles.

Stiles scrubs a hand over his face and mutters more. “I bet it was just a wrong number thing; they’ve probably already came and went and I’m just a giant loser stuck out in the cold.

He sniffles and wonders if the hobo that lives near the dorm block would share his bitter whiskey again.

His phone vibrates just as he turns to head back to campus.

_“SORRY.”_  It reads, first and foremost.  _“Something came up, sister is going into labor. I’ll make it up to you. I made reservations if you just want to put it on a tab.”_

Stiles is half way through a passive aggressive reply when his phone buzzes again.  _“I’m serious, I didn’t mean to stand you up. Just give me a few days so I can get back, after my sisters okay, okay? I’ll take you somewhere really nice or really lame. Whatever you want.”_

Stiles hums. He blinks and strolls into the deliciously warm pizza place, and taps out a reply.  _“You owe me big time. Like, chocolates and flowers and a ton of curly fries. But okay.”_

)

The next day, Stiles still feels stuffed full of a pizza and a half, along with a root beer float, curly fries, and two Dr. Peppers. (All of which were placed on Mystery Date’s tab, seeing as he apparently knows the owner of the place.) Stiles waddles into the commons at mid morning break and notices he feels no burning glare on him as he usually does.

Isaac walks over and grins sheepishly at him. “Hey Stiles. How’d the date go?”

“It didn’t. Well, sort of.” Stiles pats his belly. “I pigged out and Mystery Date is gonna pay for it. Then, they’re gonna take me out and buy me more food.”

Isaac laughs. “Why didn’t they show?”

“Oh,” Stiles waves a flippant hand, “their sister is in labor.”

Isaac freezes, as do nearby peers. “What? Seriously?”

Stiles looks at him, at them all, curiously. “Uh, yeah?”

An awkward silence stretches until someone’s phone chirps—Jackson’s, of course—and he answers it with a too loud and too awkward, “Hey, Derek! Yeah, everything is fine. How’s your sister? The baby doing fine? That’s good, that’s great.”


End file.
